


Procella

by JollyJameson



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, Merformers AU, Pirate AU, Sticky Sex, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyJameson/pseuds/JollyJameson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=14376704#t14376704">kinkmeme request</a>.<br/>Starscream, a mer as temperamental as he is beautiful. Optimus Prime, thrown into a life of piracy and faced with a moral dilemma when the <i>Ark</i> fishes Starscream out of the sea. It really could only go downhill from there, couldn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the word "rumors" is used way too often

**Author's Note:**

> The dub-con tag is there because of the power imbalance that could in no way allow for a healthy relationship in real life.

The surface of the water was smooth like a shimmering mirror in the early morning sun, nearly devoid of waves and even ripples. Starscream lay splayed out on the rough surface of the rust-covered rocks he had spent the night cycle on, shifting ever so slightly now and then so the orange light reflected off his plating better. The pale, almost white silver shone a faint pink in the dawn, the blue and red accents overlaid with the same hue.

Even without the elegant curve of his tail, the intricate patterns of his caste etched into it in neat glyphs and swirls were distinctly pretty. No wonder his swarm leader wanted him to stay in the caverns, hidden away from prying optics. It was no secret he wanted to lay claim on him, the one mer who could never be matched in speed and combat alike.  
But Starscream wasn't like his brothers, he mused, because Thundercracker was content doing as he was told rather than feeling responsible for his actions, and Skywarp... Well, his older brother was happy as long as he could act like a childish aft and get a good frag now and then. Really, the dark mer was a much better match for their leader's personality, even though Starscream could fully understand why he preferred _him_ over his brother. 

His lips twisted a bit. So much for a good mood brought forth by a night on sun-warmed stones. Red optics narrowed in search of a distraction. He found it in the shape of a dark silhouette on the horizon – a ship. Surface dwellers. If there was one thing Starscream was, it was curious. The strange creatures without fins and tails were a conundrum, they rarely entered the water and when they did, the flailed around and died soon after. Starscream had spied on their “ships” before, examined the rusty hulls down below as well as followed the ones that still had mechs on them.

Some decavorns ago, the waters had gotten downright busy, so busy that their swarm had relocated away from all the ships now crossing the Rust Sea. Something big had happened on the larger islands, rumors said, the most daring mers getting as close to the coast as they could to try and overhear what was going on, but no one knew specifics.

Some said that the surface dwellers were there because of them. Starscream doubted that. Of course, now and then a mer would be kidnapped, dragged off to who knew where, but Starscream understood that someone was likely making profit with that and wouldn't waste his resources on an attempt to catch too many – after all, demand and supply had to be just correctly unbalanced.

Whatever the reason, there had been more surface dwellers around, even so far out. The elders and swarm leader alike had forbidden anyone to get close since, but Starscream had never been one to stick to the rules some rusted out processors came up with. He slid into the water in a fluid, smooth motion that created only the smallest of ripples on the surface.

Only a scant few breems later, Starscream – almost disappointed that the surface dwellers didn't even  _notice_ him so close to the underside of their ship – was investigating a star-shaped formation of what was most likely a so far unknown mix of metals, poking and prodding at it. It stuck to the garish orange underside of the ship, among barnacles and sea life in such a number that the mer doubted this ship had seen the shore in vorns. 

Something broke the surface to his left, thrown from the ship. That something glittered in the sunlight that came from above, like a giant silver cloud of some sort.

Curious, Starscream swam closer with two gentle flaps of his tail and reached out. The cloud seemed to consist of long, thin strands, like the wire his swarm's artists worked with sometimes, just smoother and cleaner. A faint buzz came from the construct, making his plating tingle. His palm touched the... net? Nothing happened, except for Starscream getting to feel that the maybe-wire's surface was just as smooth as it looked.  
When he tried to pull away though, he found that the stuff was sticking to his palm. He grabbed it with his free hand to jerk it away, but just like the first it got stuck. The mer yanked at the net, flapping his tail to try and get away, but more of the strands stuck to it, to his fins and body, until he was trashing and writhing.

To his horror, the trap – it had to be a trap, if the other fish stuck like he himself was were any indication – started moving then, pulling him up toward the surface. Hissing and flailing got him nowhere and soon enough, cold air hit his plating with an almost biting chill. He could hear shouting and then there were hands on him, many hands, pulling him onto the ship.

He hit the ground with a splash of water that cascaded off of his frame, still tangled in the net and surrounded by the unfortunate fish that had been caught with him. His faceplate stung from a slap to the faceplate a fish had given him in its own bid to escape.

“They're _real?!_ ”

“I'm gonna touch it. Just you wait, I'm gonna touch it. Like, any klik now.”

“Told you I saw one in the Polyhexian market once!”

“Now I'll be...”

“Careful, it might bite!”

His audials were working just fine though. Anger mixed with his rising panic. Had the rumors been right after all? He did _not_ want to spend the rest of his life as some kind of living exhibit! And that wasn't even addressing the _worse_ ideas floating around the swarm in hushed words. Mers kept as pets, as exotic berthmates or science experiments.

Starscream bared his denta and snarled even as the crowd around him quietened somewhat.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Optimus Prime leaned back in his chair with a weary ex-vent. He was exhausted and that exhaustion went beyond the strain a night cycle of being on watch. He glanced down at the report he was reading. Really, who still wrote reports? Prowl, of course, because the Praxian wouldn't – couldn't – accept that they no longer were an army defending against invaders. Because the invaders had driven them off their land, off  _any_ land and they only survived because the Decepticons had come from deep inside the continent and knew next to nothing of ships and the sea that had become the Autobots' territory. 

Appropriate or not, the reports made it easier to keep an optic on morale and resources. The latter which was dwindling. Their last time at a neutral harbor had been too long ago and without the occasional Decepticon supply ship to raid, there was little they could do to get energon. And even if they found a suitably non-hostile place to anchor at, they barely had any credits without finding and plundering another ship first.

Optimus rested his helm in his palms, felt a processor ache coming on. He had not saved the mechs aboard from being killed by Megatron's troops to let them starve. The few fish they managed to catch and drain of fuel were not enough, not nearly. There had been rumors that instead of brig time, misbehaving crew members would be sold off as slaves at the docks of neutral settlements. The Prime had been quick to shoot those rumors down, because _that_ wasn't what he had saved those mechs for either.

Prowl, with his dry, deadpan humor barely anyone understood, had said that it would at least solve the fuel problem, because they had some frame types among their crew that were considered exotic now that their cities had fallen. Optimus had told Prowl not to repeat that ever again, especially not while anyone could hear. Most took what the tactician said at face-value and the last thing he needed now was infighting.

Knocking at the door of his quarters-cum-office yanked him out of his bleak thoughts and he stood in a hurry when he realized how frantic the 'bot outside was pounding at the metal. Hurry, or excitement, he decided when he opened and found the fists hitting his abdomen for a moment.

“Prime, sir!”

Optimus actually took a half-step back: “Bumblebee?”

“You gotta come and look what we fished out of the water! Come on, come on!”

And gone was the yellow youngling, running down the hall of the _Ark_ and toward the deck. The Prime paused a moment, optical ridges lifting, then hurried after the smaller mech.

The sun blended him for a moment and when he brought up a servo to shield his optics from the glare of the still-low star at the horizon, he found a cluster of mechs, all facing away from him.

He reset his vocalizer to announce his presence, but only one or two actually looked up and they were soon back to talking among themselves in hushed, but clearly excited tones.

With a sigh, Optimus hoped against all odds that his orn was not about to be made much, much more complicated and gently pushed his way between the gathered 'bots.

What he found was... unexpected, to say the least. For a moment he only saw an unknown faceplate and wondered where a new mech could have come from on open water, but then he saw the tail. And the fins.

The mer hissed at him, lunging, and the gathered crew flinched back quickly. Optimus merely crouched and caught a slender wrist when a servo with deadly claws came to scratch his optics out.

“Pit-spawned surface dweller, get your fragging hand offme!!,” the mer screeched and the Prime let go to shield his audials. Well, that probably disproved the stories about mers luring in ships with their voices, he decided.

“It can _speak_?,” someone asked behind him.

Ruby optics narrowed at Bluestreak and the Praxian shied back: “Damn straight. And I can rip out your vocalizer just as well if you call me an 'it' one more time!”

The whispering started up again. The few who believed mers existed at all usually described them as feral creatures, barely sentient enough to be tamed as pets, but this one... Ill temper aside, he acted much like the mechs abort the _Ark._

“Well then,” the mer sneered, “I would _greatly_ appreciate a little help to get back in the water, if you'd be so kind?”

Sharp denta were bared in something that could have been a smile, if not for the edge to it that promised murder to anyone who came too close. Optimus glanced back at his mechs. Several of them had paint nanites faded from too little Energon of too low quality. Almost all of them had smaller, delicate joints covered in mesh bandages to avoid further injury to parts that should have been replaced long ago. It all boiled down to one thing: They needed credits, and they needed them badly.

He looked back at the mer. A fellow Cybertronian, sentient, but nowhere classified as such. The plating had the shininess of being well-fueled and despite the superficial scratches caused by the flailing in the net and on the deck, their catch was a distinctly beautiful creature. Even if they didn't sell him, just had mechs at the docks pay for getting a look, they could make enough credits to go from mere survival to living again.

Optimus Prime made a decision.

“I don't think so. Ironhide, Chromia, fill one of the bigger crates with water,” the mer tried to slash open his legs with his claws and Optimus took a careful step back, “And someone get me a pair of cuffs.”

But despite the firmness of his tone, not even the mer's angry screech could drown out the stab of disapproval the Matrix sent through his spark.

 


	2. Maybe It Was A Friendly Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes I'm a sucker for my Prowl/Starscream BroTP

Below deck, the air smelled stale. Starscream sat in the crate the Prime had his mechs prepare, the water not quite reaching his shoulders even as he crouched. The cuffs sent a faint buzz up the wiring his arms, keeping them limp and tingly, useless to free himself.

His plating was starting to itch, the prolonged time above water drying out the nanites on the surface. It was a thoroughly unpleasant sensation that reminded him why he preferred shallow water even on the rocks he sometimes slept on. Not that he was likely to see them again at this rate.

Anger and terror mixed and left a bitter taste on his glossa, like rust. There was no telling what the surface dwellers were planning to do with him, if he would even stay alive – and if he might not end up wishing he didn't.   
Just about every horror story shared by his brothers came back into his processor, whispering of berth slaves and torture, of mers sold off as entertainment and cut open for research.

Starscream snarled at his own thoughts. How _dare_ those mechs lay hand on him?! How dare they take him away, stuff him into their ship like this?!

Creaking and scarping, a door on the far wall slid aside and the big mech, the one that had ordered his imprisonment stood there. Starscream wasn't sure what to make of his expression. It seemed almost... solemn, with a hint of anger in it, but he couldn't be sure with the faceplate in the way and hiding most of his face.   
The mer tensed, optics narrowing into small slits, denta bared in a sneer.

“Well well, look who found his way into my _humble_ accommodations.”

The surface dweller gave no reply, but stepped closer. Starscream shrunk back, cursing himself for the weakness.

“I believe I owe you an explanation at least,” the mech rumbled as he stopped, mere nanoinches from the crate, “Do you have a name?”

He got a hiss back.

“My name is Optimus Prime,” the blue and red mech said and settled down into a sitting position. It brought him closer to Starscream's faceplate and while some might have seen that as an act of politeness, it only served to increase the rightful anger – and, quite frankly, fright – of the trapped mer more. Still, what harm was there in giving away his designation? It wasn't like Optimus could do anything with it.

“Starscream,” he huffed, “I'm Starscream. And that explanation of yours better include a plan to set me free within the orn!”

The look aimed at him was frankly insulting in its softness. And yet, if he was expecting the Prime to give in, he was wrong.

“I'm afraid I cannot do that. My crew is starving and we are out of options and time. We need credits if-”

An enraged snarl interrupted him. So they _were_ planning to sell him!

“I don't _care_ about your mechs! You have no right to keep me here!”

“You are an opportunity we need, the only we will be given,” Optimus said and Starscream would have punched him for the pitying look if not for the paralyzing cuffs restraining him.

“I'm no slagging opportunity!,” he screeched, tail splashing water at a startled looking Prime, “I'm _Starscream,_ fastest mer of the swarm, most agile of the Rust Sea!”

Optimus Prime rose to his feet. Somehow, Starscream managed to make himself even smaller in his crouching position, but his denta remained bared, his gaze angry. If this surface dweller thought he'd just roll over and take it, Optimus was in for it.

But the Prime only regarded him with that slagging soft look that suddenly seemed ridiculously sad and then left. Starscream slumped, hanging his helm as soon as he was alone again. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Optimus would grow angry, do something wrong.

He didn't look forward to it, he mused as he sunk into the now even less full crate, but if he had assessed the mech right, he might decide to keep him out of some misguided mercy rather than have him sold off. As much as he hated being here, he would rather stay on the orange nightmare of a ship than be dragged off to the big landmasses to live far away from the sea.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It should be easier, the Prime thought, to stick with his choice after his talk with the mer. After all, Starscream obviously had a foul temper to boot. Then again...

“Can't fault him for resenting us?”

Optimus looked up. He hadn't heard Ratchet come in, but there his medic was, leaning against the wall next to his door, arms folded across his chassis.

“We are imprisoning him. I know we can save the crew with the credits, but...”

“But it goes against everything you believe in. I get it, Prime.”

Ratchet shook his helm and walked across the room to sit down, joints creaking in protest. It was a stinging reminder that it wasn't just fuel they needed, even though that was the most pressing matter.

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, old friend. I have always defended that right, and I know that war changes things, but...”

He trailed off, a hand coming up to run across his faceplate. The processor ache from earlier was returning. He considered telling Ratchet briefly, then discarded the idea. Ratchet had enough to worry about.

“The guy's not a 'Con,” Ratchet finished for him. The Prime flinched.

“Starscream.”

The medic blinked at him.

“His name. He's called Starscream.”

Ratchet snorted: “Fitting enough. I heard him all the way in the med bay.”

He got a flat look in return. Ratchet lifted his hands in a soothing gesture.

“Alright, alright. I know it doesn't sit right with you, but you are _also_ right when you said that we need fuel and supplies. Credits.”

Optimus Prime's gaze stayed flat: “You are not helping, old friend.”

“Look, all I'm saying is... We have a while until we reach the harbor of that little settlement, what's its name again, so you can make your decision. The crew respects you, Prime, and will support your choice, if you decide to toss the mer over board or keep him.”

Optimus kept silent. Ratchet leaned back. Both sat like that, each thinking their own thoughts.

 

They didn't keep track of time, but the sun had gotten a distinctly orange tint when someone knocked and pushed open the door.

“Ratchet?,” asked Bluestreak, “Are you here? First Aid said to get you, because the twins did their thing and then Ironhide and Cliffjumper...”

Ratchet turned to smile lopsidedly at the Prime while Bluestreak rambled on.

“Duty calls.”

He followed the Praxian out, but stopped at the door.

“Yes?,” Optimus asked. He still had a distinctly contemplative look in his optics.

“Think about what I said. And make sure someone feeds Screamer. I don't want my audials shattered.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Starscream didn't know how much time had passed since his talk with the Prime; without windows, he couldn't even use the sun as an approximate way of measurement. It had to have been quite a while though, because his tanks were pinging him with a low fuel alert.  
Come to think of it, he hadn't hunted since before his night cycle on the rocks and the struggle he had put up during his capture and after had further depleted his tanks. He had just shut down the alert when light spilled across the floor from the door, then disappeared as a large shadow covered the opening.

Starscream's gaze followed the dark shape on the ground and to a pair of large pedes, then up the legs to the red and blue chassis. Optimus Prime. Again.

Starscream rose an optic ridge as the surface dweller stepped closer and held out a plain cube of Energon. The mer glanced from the cube to the mech's face and back.

“It's for you, Starscream,” the Prime rumbled eventually, “Take it.”

The bound mer gave him a flat look: “Right. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little handicapped here.”

The Prime sighed, set down the cube and reached out.

Starscream was pressed against the very back of the crate in a matter of astrokliks, denta bared, hunched into himself, the look on his faceplate one of terror. Optimus paused, clearly taken aback.

Slowly, he lowered himself into a crouching position and pulled back his servo.

“I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You're not going to _touch_ me!,” Starscream spat back, but his face still held that terrified expression. He hated it, the vulnerability, but to be immobilized and trapped, all but helpless and at this stranger's mercy, it made him _taste_ fear.

“You need the fuel.”

Starscream just snarled back. The Prime made another attempt at reaching out and something snapped. The mer surged forward and sunk his denta into the plating of the digits, biting down until the metal cracked and small drops of Energon came forward. The bitter taste of processed fuel hit his glossa for a moment and it made his processor spin even before Optimus yanked his hand back and send Starscream's forehead smacking into the edge of the crate.

By the time the mer had recovered, he barely caught the door closing behind the Prime's back. The cube with the Energon remained on the ground, the soft glow a taunt for his emptying tanks.

The soft sound of pedefalls made the mer jerk upright, stare around wildly. Out of the shadows came a black and white mech, smaller than the Prime. Smaller than Starscream himself even.

The mer relaxed a tad, fairly certain he could defend himself against this one if it came down to it.

“What do you want?!,” he hissed, optics narrow.

“Make sure you get your fuel. May I approach?”

The mer eyed him suspiciously. It could be a trick. Then again, he was hungry. He was simply not used to running on less than at least 90%, hunting his Energon in the form of fish if his tanks dropped below that.

“Who're you?”

The reply was calm: “Prowl.”

Another moment of deliberation.

“Fine,” he said quietly and the mech came closer, picked up the cube. Unlike the Prime he didn't reach out.

“Should I undo the cuffs or hold the cube to your lips?”

There was a chance there. If he managed to defeat Prowl, he could use this to escape. Without the cuffs, he could use his arms. Then again, he had no idea how to get out of the ship and dragging himself across the ground was not only undignified, but slow. Too slow. Someone would catch him. But would he really get another chance like that?  
Starscream hid his racing thoughts on the answer with a question of his own: “If you're starving, how come I get any fuel at all?”

Prowl seemed mildly offended, though his voice and face stayed calm: “We are no savages.”

In the end, he decided not to risk it. He would try to gain their trust, first.

“Just let me drink,” he said, shifting to settle a bit closer to Prowl. The mech nodded, opened the cube and held to his lips. Starscream drank in hungry gulps and all too soon, the cube was empty.

Prowl nodded silently and stood up again.

“What're you gonna do now?”

“I believe the Prime might need some advice on the treatment of prisoners.”

Starscream nodded back, settling down. Prowl was... not quite as bad as the others, unless he had just fed him poison – and that was unlikely because really, what would it gain him to waste a rare catch like that?

Maybe Prowl could make the Prime go away. It was a childish hope, he knew and scolded himself for it, but there was no adult way to deal with his situation, was there?

 


	3. An Unexpected Ally

“Prime, sir.”

Optimus rose from setting down a crate he had helped carry to face his Second. Prowl took in the faded blue of his leader's optics, the slump in the wide shoulders.

“You haven't been refueling,” he stated, the slightest of frowns around his mouth “Or recharging. If I remember correctly,” and they both knew he always did, “you took the night watch shift. Again.”

Optimus sighed.

“None of my systems are in the red yet. Was this the reason you wanted to speak to me?”

Prowl held back a comment about how redlining systems were a dramatic occurrence, not the first sign someone should take it a bit easier. They had had this discussion too many times.

“Not the only thing, no, sir. I believe we should take this conversation to a more private location though.”

The Prime did mutter something about how he trusted all the mechs aboard, but didn't really object, so they both ended up in Optimus' office. The Praxian waited for his leader to sit down, keeping an optic on the fatigued movements.

“Well then. What do you want to talk about?,” Optimus asked eventually, looking at his SiC with a kind of tired kindness.

“The mer we fished out of the sea earlier,” he replied simply. He had known the Prime for long enough to guess the expression behind the mouth plate. Right now, it was falling.

Nevertheless, Prowl pushed on: “Am I correct in assuming that you have trouble deciding how to treat him as there is no precedent for the current situation?”

“I wouldn't put it in so many words, but... yes, I suppose so.”

Silence descended upon them for a long moment. Eventually, just before Prowl started to doubt his assessment of the situation, the Prime continued.

“We _need_ credits or we will starve or just fall apart for lack of medical supplies. Starscream is more of an opportunity than we could realistically wish for, but... We, no, _I_ am taking away his freedom in the process.”

The tactician resisted the urge to shake his helm and ran his calculations again.

“You could attempt to convince him to assist us voluntarily. Such a course of action has a chance of succeeding of 78.5% if done right. It would have the benefit of taking care of the ethical concerns, at least.”

Optimus Prime gave him a long, considering look. It was the closest he ever came to dumbstruck, Prowl knew.

“What exactly do you suggest?,” he asked and Prowl knew he had won.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Despite being in unknown territory, Starscream's systems had eventually cycled down into recharge after several orns. Of which he was rudely startled out of when someone shook his shoulder. In an instant, he was aware and snarling, trying to push himself away from whatever surface dweller had dared lay servo on him.

Only a moment later he saw it was the Prime. Denta bared still, he felt how his plating clamped down tight, but he ceased struggling to get away.

This mech was bigger, stronger and not hindered by stasis cuffs. Angering him would only get him injured and he couldn't afford injuries that would slow him down when he got the chance to escape. If he got such a chance.

“You're awake,” Optimus Prime pulled back.

Starscream sneered: “Brilliant observation.”

The mech didn't react to the jab: “We will be moving you to my quarters.”

He tensed up. So that was what he was to be used for. The mere thought made him want to scream, to make a desperate, futile attempt to run or to hide in his own mind until it was over. Still he didn't quite dare to physically resist when he was lifted from the crate and into the Prime's arms. They were strong arms, made for work and combat. Those were the kind of arms Starscream would have found attractive had they not belonged to his captor.

His plating began to itch from the exposure to the air and he squirmed a bit in response.

“Almost there,” the Prime said almost... soothingly? Starscream wasn't sure if that was reassuring or disturbing. No, wait, actually he was sure. And it was most definitely the latter.

Then he was lowered into water again. Significantly _more_ water than he had had in the crate. Startled, he found that the Prime apparently had a large – _very_ large by surface dweller standards he guessed – tub of sorts imbedded into the floor.

“Wheeljack built it,” Optimus said while crouching next to the edge, “In record time, too.”

Starscream didn't reply. He was much more focused on Optimus' hands than his words. The blunt digits, so different from his own claws, had started tracing the intricate etchings of his swarm and rank along his back and arms. Starscream tried to steel himself for what he knew was coming. Tried to numb himself to it, even though the mere thought made his tanks churn.

And still the surface dweller was taking his sweet time just _touching_ him. When the mer finally dared glance at the mech's faceplate, he found a distant look in them, like the Prime wasn't really seeing him or the frame he was tracing. Was the pervert imagining all the things he was about to do? Or was it something else entirely?

Starscream shifted back a bit experimentally. No reaction. Only when he pushed himself off to the opposite wall of his new prison did Optimus stir. Seemingly coming back to reality, he pulled his hand back.

“I apologize. I haven't been recharging much.”

The mer just rose an optic ridge in response. Eventually, the surface dweller seemed to actually become uneasy under his gaze. It would have been downright hilarious from a bystander's view. Too bad Starscream wasn't a bystander.

He watched as his captor settled into a more comfortable position, sitting down with his legs crossed now.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

The mer stayed quiet, unwilling to say something that could be used against him. The situation was just too far outside _any_ of his expectations and therefore his control.

“I also wish to offer you a deal.”

Ah. So the mech probably wanted to delude himself into believing that taking Starscream could be a consensual endeavor. The mer just frowned back.

“As you might or might not have noticed, the mechs aboard this ship are short on... well, everything from fuel to spare parts. Bottom line is, we need credits. I would like to request your help in getting these credits.”

“Oh, so you want me to _agree_ to being sold off?,” he sneered, unable to hold his glossa any longer. That did explain why the Prime hadn't forced himself onto him at least. Surely that would decrease his value, he thought bitterly.

“No! No, we...”

He fell silent. Starscream snorted and curled up until he managed to get his helm underwater. He just wanted to be back home, with his swarm. Wanted to show off his flashy colors under the eyeroll of Thundercracker and scold Skywarp for slagging off the wrong mer yet again. Wanted to swim at speeds none could match and catch fish whenever he was hungry.

Instead, he was trapped in a cramped tub, restrained and his fuel tank was barely half full because the surface dwellers apparently couldn't spare too much fuel for him.

Starscream was _miserable_ with no improvement in sight. The thought tasted bland on his glossa and no longer brought on the fierce anger that had accompanied it before. Only a few orns in captivity shouldn't have had such an effect on him! And yet, they had. Because he was alone and trapped and had _no idea_ how to deal with any of this.

Unwilling to dwell on the matter any longer, Starscream forced his systems to shut down manually. He knew now that the surface dwellers had an interest in keeping him in good, unharmed and non-violated condition if they wanted a lot of credits for him. That realization was just as bitter as his previous thoughts and he finally shut down his active consciousness to flee his reality at least for a while. Maybe dreams would offer some comfort.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late and short. I'm afraid that's what updates will be like for a while considering we are right in exam phase at school until July 4th.


	4. Advice For The Young One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows dust off story*  
> Uh... hi?  
> I gots a new chapter for you. Fair warning, there'll be rape mentions in this one. Nothing explicit, nothing actually happens, but if your're squicked or triggered by having it discussed... stay clear of this one.

 Starscream made sure to keep his head underwater as long as he could. His new prison allowed him that luxury, if he curled up all the way at the bottom. It was cramped, despite the bigger tub he was in now, and eventually he couldn't stay in the awkward position anymore. He watched the smudge of blue and red through the water's surface, waited until it moved out of sight, and stretched his back straight. His head shattered the smooth surface, a thousand droplets splashing about as he shook it. He twisted, flapped his tail, and rotated his arms to get the stiffness out of his joints.

“You look really beautiful.”

What was it with mechs addressing him before he even _noticed_ them?!

Starscream turned with a snarl and lowered himself deeper into the water again, until he was covered up to his optics.

The Prime stood a few feet away from the pool – fidgeting. Go figure. At least the big mech seemed to realize there was no reply forthcoming.

“About... ah, about that deal...”

Red optics narrowed. Thisagain?

“May I come closer?”

Why was the surface dweller even _asking_ that? Starscream was a captive and the Prime his jailer. Like he cared about permissions given or not given by the mer! Spiteful, eager to call the surface dweller's bluff, Starscream shook his head vehemently. It was stupid, it might get him punished – _hurt,_ when he couldn't afford injuries – but his vicious temper had always been his downfall.

“Okay.”

The mer could only blink as Optimus Prime crouched where he had stood, apparently not angry at all. Just what was he playing at? Still trying to get Starscream's cooperation to clear his own conscience? Well, he could rust waiting for that.

“I do not wish to sell you. There is something else I would like to run by you.”

Suspicious, Starscream levered himself out of the water just enough to hiss a “So you're just selling my _services_?” at the Prime.

“I... what?”

“You won't sell _me,_ just rent my valve out. Surprised I caught on so quickly?”

“That... that was not...”

And just like that, the massive surface dweller turned and fled. _Fled,_ when he held all the cards. It left Starscream confused, but kind of satisfied.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“He... he thought... He thinks we'd... Why'd he think I'd do that?”

“Well,” Ironhide was unsympathetic, “What _are_ you planning to do with him?”

“Just... Just show him off or something. Something mechs will pay for, without hurting him.”

At the Prime's genuinely forlorn tone, Ironhide's expression softened a bit: “Which is little better than forcing him into prostitution. You're still selling his body, whether it's being touched or not.”

“Prowl said-”

“Slag what Prowl says,” the warrior sighed, rubbing at his faceplate, “I know he means well, but Praxian society was pretty fragged up in its own ways. They had bond contracts till the very end. Point is, Prowl's perspective is skewed. He's a good tactical advisor and if this were Praxus, he'd be just as good as a social one. But he isn't. You gotta learn to assess and react to situations on your own.”

Optimus Prime looked even more exhausted than before. Browbeaten, almost.

“Listen, Orion, you're _young._ You're a good mech, at least as good as Prowl, but you lack experience. You got the Matrix shoved on you only _decavorns_ before the war started. This is a moral dilemma, I admit, but you gotta find a solution yourself. I'm not saying you can't take advice – I'm saying you should assess that advice before following it.”

“What would you advise I do?”

His bodyguard shook his head: “Talk to him. The mer might have an idea of his own. Other than that – go ask whoever you trust to have a qualified opinion.”

Optimus stopped, tapping at his chin.

“That might not work at all.”

“Well, duh,” Hide huffed, “But does moping have a better chance?”

A smile made its way onto the weary faceplate. The Prime suddenly seemed completely re-vitalized, despite the dimness of his optics.

Then he spun around and jogged off.

“Hey!,” Ironhide tried to grab him, but missed by a hair, “You're supposed to rest!”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The Prime was back. Starscream was almost – _almost,_ mind you! – glad for that. It had been several joors and despite the constant tension that came with being in enemy territory, boredom had wormed its way into his processor.

Now the big surface-dweller was back, as mentioned before, and he was fidgeting again. Primus below. Starscream's fear of the mech was fading quickly, despite the caution that remained.

“Can we talk?”

“It seems we're both capable of forming words, yes,” he snarked. Again, no negative reaction. A good sign, he hoped.

The Prime smiled.


End file.
